


Snow White Crow

by Captainohmycaptain



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Snow White, Canon-Typical Violence, Cersei as the Evil Queen, Im Jonmund Trash so get ready, M/M, Snow White & The Huntsman AU, will add more tags as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7518385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captainohmycaptain/pseuds/Captainohmycaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Snow White & and The Huntsman AU that no one asked for. Jon Snow is Snow White, Tormund is the Wildling Hunstman tasked to find him by the Evil Queen Cersei.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I literally became Jonmund garbage today. It is 3 in the morning as I type this and I wrote out this first chapter earlier. I really wanted to contribute to such a small ship in terms of content. This is also my first Game of Thrones fic. 
> 
> I have a lot of the characters in mind already but a few I still have to choose. So here's the list for now.  
> Snow White- Jon Snow  
> Huntsman/Eric- Tormund  
> William- Robb or Theon (yet to be decided)  
> Ravenna- Cersei  
> Finn- Jaime  
> The Duke- Ned Stark  
> Gus- Ygritte  
> Beith- Mance Rayder  
> Leader of the River Women- Dany
> 
> So any ideas of who to make who would be a lot of help and appreciated! Also you don't have to have seen the movie for this to make sense! Anyways, I hope its enjoyable and hopefully I'll have the second chapter out soon!

_Once upon a time, in deep winter, a Queen was admiring the falling snow when she saw a rose blooming in defiance of the cold._

_Reaching for it, she pricked her finger and three drops of blood fell._

_And because the red seemed so alive against the white, she thought, if only I had a child as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as a crow’s wings, and with all the strength of that rose._

Lyanna Targaryen, born of House Stark, had expected the Gods to bless her with a daughter, instead they sent a son. She named him _Jon Snow,_ and smiled down upon the features she had wished her child to bear so many months ago.

_The Prince was adored throughout the kingdom as much for his defiant spirit as for his beauty._

* * *

 

 

Jon follows the bird’s cries through the trees, ignoring Robb and Theon’s bothered grunts behind him. They struggle through underbrush after the Prince, Theon annoyed at being made to chase after the boy again, Robb trying to console the King’s ward, more bemused than anything at Jon’s behavior. The Prince has always been too ready to follow the cries of the injured, to listen to the plights of the needy. Robb is used to following after him, to ensuring his safety as well as he could, though no one in the Kingdom dared to hurt the Prince, who was loved wholly across the land.

Jon nearly missed the bird, hiding deep under a bush in shadow, but its squawks of distress were very near. He had to double back around twice before he thought to drop low to the ground instead of looking up for the animal. The bird hopped in agitation, making a small peck towards his reaching hand.

Robb released a small sound before calling, “Jon, it’s dying. It doesn’t want to be bothered, it’ll scratch you.” But he went ignored, as he often did when Jon got determined. Theon scoffed as Jon went back to trying to coax the bird out of its little den.

“He’ll never listen to you, don’t know why you even bother anymore.” And even Jon had to shake his head at that, hiding his grin from his two friends. It was the truth, thought Jon knew that Robb took no real offense to it.

Turning his attention back to the bird, Jon dropped fully to his stomach in the grass and mud, dirtying his outer clothes, all made in the Northern fashion his mother insisted upon as winter approached. He starts whispering small encouragements to the bird, quietly pleading with it to trust him and come closer. It takes several moments, filled with his murmurs and Theon’s impatient sighs. Eventually, finally, the bird chirped lowly and took tiny hops towards Jon’s hand, eyeing him warily before he deemed Jon safe enough to be scooped gently out from under the bushes. Jon maneuvered the creature into his arms as gently as he could, avoiding the right wing, which was obviously what ailed the bird, twisted and hanging limp. Even Theon was quieted at the sight of the injury, by the sound of Jon cooing over the bird, stroking his fingers down its back to calm it. The three boys hurried back out of the woods and across town, towards the castle gates.

Once inside, Jon hastened to his mother’s chambers, Robb and Theon keeping an easy pace, both of them bigger than him, despite how close in age they were, Theon being the oldest at only a year and half older than Robb, who was only two months older than Jon. Their steps echoed off the stone walls as they approached the open doors of Queen Lyanna’s bed chamber. Maester Luwin raised his head as the boys approached and stepped away from where the Queen sat, sharing a silent look with her. Lyanna smiled at her only child as he stepped closer, already holding her hands out for the bird. Consoled by Jon’s presence, the animal hopped into the Queen’s hands easily, with only a soft trill at the pain it brought to its wing.

“We found it in the woods, I heard it crying as we were running past.” Jon spoke softly, unaware of the tense Maester stood next to the King near the window. Lyanna’s smile waned in grief for the poor animal and she set it into her lap, her hands ghosting over its broken wing. The King rocked back on his feet, nearly having to lean on the sill behind him for support, at the sight of his wife and son, their heads leaned together as they examined the bird. His wife had been sick for weeks now, but her smile came back and her eyes brightened every time she saw their son. It was like that for everyone who knew the Prince. Just a smile from the Prince was whispered among the commoners to cure any ailment. Though Rhaegar knew that rumor not to be true, no matter how strongly he wished it was, for then his wife would not be dying. The Maester was sure of it at this point and, as much as it pained Rhaegar to give up, they were all more focused on making her comfortable and happy in her last months, than in finding any cure. They still had not told Jon, unsure of how the boy would handle it. His defiance made him unpredictable, and though Rhaegar knew it would be worse for Jon to watch his mother weaken and realize she was going to pass on his own, he couldn’t risk having his son lash out now at any sudden explanation.

He’s drawn from his thoughts as Lyanna asks him to retrieve a piece of ribbon from atop one of her many desks. As he goes to collect the length, he notes its color as pale blue, the color of winter roses. It jolts Rhaegar back through time, to his memories of when he first saw Lyanna. The tourney at Harrenhal had been a great victory for him in his youth and he had not hesitated for even a moment before placing the wreath of winter roses in Lyanna Starks lap, naming her the most beautiful woman in attendance. They were married only four months later. Rhaegar feels his heart break open even wider as he remembers how vibrant she’d been, how she’d beaten him in horse races, had risen to his challenges at every turn, had loved him passionately and truly from the beginning. And now here she sits, her life fading, her wild spirit and beauty living on through their son, who was more like her every day.

He cut the ribbon and turned back to his lady wife and son, giving them a smile that Lyanna could see straight through and that Jon couldn’t help but brightly return, so innocent yet that he could not see the pain in his father’s eyes. He handed the piece to the Queen and watched with Jon as she gently wrapped the bird’s wing to its body, so that it could not move it and wouldn’t drag across the ground when it walked.

“It will heal in time.” She smiled again at Jon and hugged him to her chest, hiding the tears that grew in her eyes, knowing that she however, would not.

“I’ll look after it,” Jon insisted, pulling back from his mother’s embrace, too preoccupied to notice the wet shine to her eyes and how her grin shook. He looked back to Robb and Theon, who both avoided his eyes, having already been informed of the Queen’s fading health. “You’ll help me, right?” He asked them, getting small nods in response.

Lyanna looked to her husband and Maester Luwin with a tired sadness in her eyes and Rhaegar nodded. “Boys, Maester Luwin, we’d better go get washed up, supper is coming.” He led the other men out of the room, giving his wife time alone with her child.

“You possess a rare beauty, my love.” The Queen stroked a hand through his inky black curls, darker even then her own Northern locks, a true gift from the Gods. “In here,” She continued as her hand fell from his head to his chest, rubbing idly at the embroidered dragon sigil, dirtied with dry mud from his time playing with his cousin and the ward. Jon stilled, finally noticing that perhaps all is not right, but his mother’s eyes calm him again. “Never lose it. Hold it as dear as I hold you. You will need its strength to one day become King, as I will need your strength in the winter to come.” Lyanna held Jon in her arms, whispering the stories she used to lull him to sleep with, long after supper had come and passed. No one dared disturb them in their respite.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon had never loved to climb trees, but Robb and Theon teased him about it and always had contests to see who could get the highest. He had always shaken his head at their antics, this one of the few that he didn’t like to join in on. Now, though, he was proud to climb as high as he could, with Robb below him in the branches, and Theon waiting on the ground even lower. Jon looked up at the bright sky, content despite the chill in the air. Winter truly was coming, holding good to the words of his mother’s born house. In his hands Jon held the bird he’d found several weeks ago, its wing healed and free of its ribbon sling. Jon had taken the mock bandage off a few nights ago and yet the bird had not immediately flown away as Theon had insisted it would. It stayed with Jon, nesting in the basket of fabric scraps Jon had put together for it until that morning, when the bird had looked at the Prince and tilted its head. As clear as if the bird had spoken to him, Jon _knew_ that now it was ready to leave, to part with its guardian and friend.

The cold wind blew through Jon’s hair, the branches of the apple tree rustling together, the last of its fruit shaking as Jon moved even higher into the tree. The bird chirped happily in his hands and Jon stopped at the branch he was on, settling his back against the trunk. He would wait there for hours if it took that long for his friend to feel ready to fly off. Instead, it took only a few moments. With one last look and a gentle peck to his hand, the bird was gone, flapping expertly through the twigs and out into the air of the castle garden. Jon couldn’t help but feel sad. The parting was bittersweet in his heart. He was happy to see the bird healed and free once again, off to do as it pleased, but another part of him was already missing the bird’s presence, the silent observation and guidance it had given him. He would miss the crow, he knew.

Jon met with Robb halfway down the tree, the older boy laying back against a thick branch, tossing an apple up and down through the air. Neither of them spoke for a moment. But then his dear cousin gave him an understanding crook of his lips and everything was right in Jon’s heart. The boys smiled at each other and their playful spirits were wound up. Robb offered the apple to him and though Jon was used to this trick by now, he still reached out for it, only for Robb to snatch the fruit back towards himself and take a quick bite, all before Jon could react.

“Robb!” He cried, just as he always did and his cousin’s laughter was loud and happy as he tossed the apple down to Theon and leapt from the tree. It was far too high for Jon to just jump and both older boys knew that. They waited patiently for Jon to make his way completely to the ground before running off, Jon’s cries of their names following them as the Prince ran after, all of them completely forgetting the apple on the ground at the foot of the tree.

 

* * *

 

 

_The next winter was the harshest in memory and Jon Snow’s mother passed away._

Jon had seen it coming. He’d known for weeks that this mother was fading, but he’d hid it away, for her sake, for his father’s. The night she’d died, his father had come into his rooms and held his son as he wept, while the sept bells were rung. Jon cried into his father’s shoulder, wishing more than anything that he knew what to do to console his grief. He could only hold the proud King while the bells echoed through the castle walls. His mother’s words ran through his mind- that he would have to be strong, for his father, for himself, for the Kingdom. Jon would try, as hard as he could, but even then, Jon didn’t see how he could be strong enough for this.

_Winter passed, but the King was inconsolable. Taking advantage of his grief, dark forces gathered on the kingdom’s borders._

* * *

 

“From what hell comes this army?” Lord Eddard Stark asks his late sister’s husband, his King, as their horses approach the barren field of battle, their opponents across the way, the plants dead and frozen around them.

“A hell to which they’ll soon return!” was the King’s only battle cry as he spurred his horse forward once more, jolting his army into racing towards the monstrous warriors as well. The creatures were pale as ice, their weapons burned with cold and their shrieks were deafening. The King’s men were brave, all proud to serve their King and protect their kingdom, but even they feared the too-bright blue eyes of their enemies. All the same, they plowed into battle, the lines of fighters blending into a vicious cycle. King Rhaegar leapt from his steed and approached one of the ice knights, their blades meeting, ringing metal and crackling ice glancing across each other and their wielders spun. The King was ruthless in his attack, full of rage and grief, but not allowing his emotions to make him sloppy. His fighting was efficient and quick, a Targaryen trait that lived on through him. He fought relentlessly, finally seeing an opening, a weakness, and he struck. His blade swung through the air, his aim true, slicing right under his opponent’s guard and into its body. The King flinched back though, as the warrior blasted apart, showering him in small shards of ice, a blast of cold wind following the strange occurrence. The King stepped back and stared as the rest of frozen army was defeated within minutes, the ground frosted over with their remains. His army cheered around him as he raised his sword, for the first time unbloodied at the end of a battle. Lord Stark approached him then, informing him of a single prisoner carriage they’d found. The King turned and looked upon the blackened wood. How had they not seen it before the battle? Though, Rhaegar thought, perhaps that in their fervor they hadn’t been looking at anything other than the monstrous force across from them. The King and Lord Stark walked nearer the carriage and saw that its handles and locks were frozen shut, done by the touch of one of those ungodly creatures. Rhaegar drew his sword once more and struck the doors of the carriage, hearing ice shatter under his Valyrian blade. The doors fell open of their own accord and Lord Stark took a wary step back, his Northern superstition making him suspicious of what this cart could hold. The King, however, only stepped closer. He peered inside and his eyes met a shivering figure, wrapped in a dirtied and torn gold cloak. The hands holding the cloak closed were thin and pale, and Rhaegar realized this was a woman.

“You are free now. You have nothing to fear from me or my men. What is your name, my Lady?” The woman flinched back at his voice, her hands shaking even more violently. However, after a moment passed, she peered out from the hood of the cloak and Rhaegar was struck. She eased then hood from her head and looked out fearfully. Her blond hair hung around her shoulders, framing her face in a halo of golden light. Her blue eyes shone out, her lips quivering as she prepared to speak.

“My name is Cersei, sire.”

_So struck by her beauty was the King, that he forgot, for the first time, his broken heart and the very next day, he was to marry her._


	2. Marriage Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Cersei discuss her past. The King is married. And the castle is sacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so here's the second chapter. I also went back and tried to fix some of the errors I spotted in the first chapter. I have no beta so any and all mistake are my own. I also apologize for how the tense shifts occasionally. I've been trying to catch myself doing it and fix it but that's difficult so sometimes it slips through.   
> Hope you enjoy and hopefully I'll have the next chapter out shortly!

Jon stared quietly from his stone bench as the future Queen’s face was powdered, her hair getting braided intricately by the handmaidens that had once served his mother. It was her wedding day and she had invited Jon inside the dressing chambers to accompany her as she was prepared, but had not spoken a word to him yet. He sat patiently though, hoping that she truly was as lovely in mind as she was in looks. His father was enamored and the kingdom rejoiced, happy to have their King as lively as he once had been. Jon was happy as well, that his father was coming out of his rooms, was eating and playing with Jon again, when he had the free time. Jon turned his eyes back to Cersei, drawing them off the stone floors. Her gold hair was plaited down her back and he caught her eyes in the mirror.

“You’re very beautiful, my Lady.” He murmured, dropping his eyes once more. He heard a low chuckle from Cersei and the chair that she was sat in scraping back against the floor.

“Prince,” She called. She had turned in her chair and was beckoning Jon over. He hesitated to move as she spoke again, “That is kind of you.” Jon gave a slight bow of his head in thanks at her words as he neared her. She placed a light hand on his head, the other on his chest, just like his mother used to and Jon had to draw in a deep breath to keep himself in her reach. “Especially when it is said that yours is the face of true beauty in this kingdom.” She tilted her head to the side as she brushed some of his long hair behind his ear. Jon couldn’t help but huff at that. He was a boy, a proud Prince. The people shouldn’t be calling him beautiful, but handsome. At least, that’s what Theon often told him, teasing him about his lips and pulling on his hair whenever Robb wasn’t there to stop him.

Her eyes met his and they were not cold. The warm blue comforted him and his thoughts quieted.

“I know it is difficult, my Prince. I lost my mother when I was young, like you.” Her voice was soft, sad, and Jon wondered if he’d ever be able to speak of his mother’s death with such dignity.

“You did?” It was another thing that drew him towards her, that made him want to let her comfort him and believe that his father was making a wise decision to follow his heart’s desire. Cersei quieted though, searching his grey eyes for something. Jon didn’t know what she saw, but her face lightened once more and she gave him a sad smile.

“Yes. A King tore me from her arms, dressed me in lace, and stole my innocence.” Jon frowned at this, angry at this unnamed ruler just from her few words. He was not entirely naïve, he knew of what she spoke, of what abuse she had endured. Cersei’s hand returned to his chest, then, stilling his fidgeting. “Fret not, child. It was many, many years ago. . .” Her hand strayed to his shoulder, squeezing once before returning to lay over the dragon sewed into his shirt. “I can never replace your mother, but I feel that you and I are bound,” Her eyes took on that strange light once more, “In here.” She poked him once over the heart before dropping her hands back to her lap. Jon couldn’t help but smile. He knew no one could ever replace Lyanna Stark’s place as his mother, but he couldn’t help think that perhaps Cersei could very well be a true friend to him.

 

* * *

 

 

Cersei was somber as she walked towards the altar, the string instruments, the harps, echoing around the room, creating a romantic scene. Her dress of blood red trailed behind her, the ornate train being held up by her future son as he walked slowly after her. She met the eyes of a few nobles, giving them as soft a smile as she could manage and minute head bows to appear respectful. However, most of their eyes were not placed upon her as she had expected. She turned her eyes to look upon both sides of the hall, and it was true. Apart from the few older Lords who had deigned to acknowledge her presence, all the eyes of the room fell behind her. Cersei turned her head to look back as well, careful to keep walking straight forward.

Jon Snow walked at her back, his hands clasping the ends of her dress. He was blushing, his cheeks flushed pink on his pale white skin, his black locks having been spun into less unruly spirals. He knew he was being watched and he kept his eyes down because of it. That was, until he felt another set of eyes upon him. He looked up to meet Cersei’s gaze and beamed at her, mistaking her look of confusion for one of support. A coo went through the room in reaction Jon’s bright smile and the boy looked down once again, his blush spreading even to his ears in its resurgence.

Cersei straightened and was careful to keep her face blank as she realized that Jon Snow, the lovely little boy, full of beauty and life, who reminded her so much of herself when she was young, was going to be a problem for her eventually.

She reached the altar then and took King Rhaegar’s hand in her arm, smiling demurely up at him. Their vows were spoken softly, the King truly believing that he had found another love in this life. Cersei couldn’t help but look over at the Prince every so often, making sure to give him conspiratorial grins that had their audience enamored. She watched his grin grow, watched his happiness grow as his father was married once again. And when the King kissed Cersei to seal their vows of love and unity, Jon Snow’s smile lit up the entire room. The audience’s applause was deafening, echoing around the hall. Cersei was being led down the aisle once more, now hand in hand with the King. The Queen looked out upon her people, once more looking back at her new son. Soon, it would all be hers. Soon, Jon Snow would learn a hard lesson about trusting a pretty face and soft words.

* * *

 

King Rhaegar let himself fall back into his bed, drunk off wine and the love he felt for his new wife. Their wedding feast had been grand and his people had not looked so joyous since before the late Queen had passed. He grinned at Cersei, sloppily pulling her closer to him by her skirts, sitting up on the bed so he could kiss once more.

“You will be the ruin of me” He chuckled, pulling her down onto the soft mattress, rolling atop her. He brushed her loose hair back from her face as she brought her hands across his shoulders and onto his chest.

“Indeed, my Lord.” Her voice was low, emotionless, but Rhaegar did not notice. The King kissed down the side of her face, reverently tracing a hand across her jaw. His lips passed her neck as he couldn’t help but laugh again, overjoyed by the feel of his wife against him. Cersei stared up at the ceiling as her husband continued to do as he pleased with her body. “I was ruined by a King like you, once. I replaced his Queen, an _old_ woman. And in time, I too would have been replaced.” The King finally releases the flesh of her throat from his lips and leans up, placing his weight on his hands to look Cersei in the eye. He’s shocked to note she has tears on her face, but as he tries to reach for her, a sharp pain rips through his chest. He looks down at her hands upon his body and chokes on his own breath. Cersei grins then, her eyes sharper and colder than he’s ever seen in a being as she rolls his body to straddle his hips. She looks down upon him with disgust and contempt.

“What have done to me?” He gasps, trying to push her off of him but he’s too weak, his arms falling back against the furs. His silver hair fans on the pillow under him and he gasps for breath as Cersei breathes deeply atop him.

“Nothing you wouldn’t have done to me, my Lord. . . Men use women. You take what you please and when you are done, you toss us to the dogs like _scraps._ ” Her voice is smooth, practiced, like she’s said the words many times before. She draws a blade from under her skirts and holds it high above her head. Rhaegar struggles again but it is completely futile. His limbs are quivering, useless against the mattress. He can barely draw a breath, his heart racing, feeling a fresh jolt of pain every time it beats. “When a woman stays young and _beautiful_ forever, the world is hers.” Cersei unsheathes the wicked blade, its metal glinting in the candle light. She tosses the sheath aside and puts both hands upon the hilt, raising her arms high once more.

“First I’ll take your life,” Rhaegar thrashes against the bed, paralyzed by pain, as Cersei’s smirk only grows, “and then I’ll take your throne.” Her stab is not hesitant, she does not falter in aim. The blade pierces straight through his heart, stilling him immediately. His eyes go dark even as Cersei peers into them, watching the life leave his body. The crown is hers. She falls from his body, back down to the bed where she pants as the power hits her. She has killed another King. She will take another Kingdom.

 

* * *

 

Cersei kept her steps quiet as she made her way through the castle halls. After the grand feast the King had insisted upon, most of the guards and nobility inside the castle were drunk and asleep. She had not planned it to be that way, but oh how it amused her, that Rhaegar had done all he could to make this easier for her. The moon was bright and hung heavy above her as she made her way across the courtyard, towards the gate.

_She had made her way into the kingdom with a phantom army. Now, she welcomed a very real one._

Already, it was being lifted and as soon as it reached her shoulders, her true men were slipping underneath, weapons drawn. When the gate is fully drawn and as her loyal warriors stream into the castle beside her, she sees him. Her beloved brother, the only man she trusted, the only man she _knew_ would never break her heart. His smirk only grew as he took sight of her, walking towards her outstretched palm. She set her hand on his cheek and her smile was genuine.

“Welcome, Jaime.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jon woke slowly, to the sound of bells. He blinked and tried to understand what was happening. Sitting up, he stared at the sliver of light that crept in from under his chamber door. At this time of night the halls should’ve been dark and silent. Instead, Jon saw the shadows of people marching past, the sounds of clanking armor. Easing from the bed, Jon drew his sword from the chest under his window that bore the sigil of House Stark, a great snarling direwolf. He was still young for swordplay but his father insisted he started learning the basics, training with Robb in a way that was more like playing. Despite this, he felt safer with it in his hands already. Jon waited at his closed door until several minutes passed with no troops storming by. As quietly as he could, Jon opened his door inch by inch, peering out into the hallway, checking both directions. With his path clear, he stepped from the darkness of his chambers into the candlelight, hurrying towards the King’s room. With it being the day of the King’s new marriage, perhaps it was some enemy come to take advantage of the happy occasion, to catch the kingdom unawares. Or perhaps, it was that monstrous ice army his father had battled only two days ago, come to take back their prisoner. Jon didn’t want them to take Cersei away, despite only having known her as his stepmother for a few hours.

Jon quickened his pace in fear, praying to both the Old Gods his mother had believed in and the Seven-faced one that his father did, that the King and Queen were unharmed. As he came to a part of the castle that was open to the courtyard, Jon looked down onto a bloody battle. Maidens screamed as they were tossed aside by warriors clad in black armor, caring not for who stood in their way. Jon watched as they slaughtered Maesters and young lords alike- people that Jon had known all his life. Fighting back tears, Jon bit his lip and turned away from the awful scene, more determined than ever to find his father. He clenched the grip of his sword even tighter in his shaking hand and ran from the hall. Jon was panting by the time he reached the King’s chambers, having had to duck and hide several times, his fear ratcheting his heart into his throat as the black-clad knights patrolled past him. As he approached the chamber doors he could not help but start to feel relieved. He made it, he might be safe now! Instead, when Jon eased the wooden door open, his heart stopped dead for a moment. His father, the King, the noble Rhaegar Targaryen was lying dead in a pool of his own blood atop his bedsheets. A curved blade still protruded from his chest, his dead eyes still open and staring without seeing. Jon’s body went limp without his command and he dropped to the stone floor in a heap, squeezing his eyes shut as fresh tears fell. Not his father, too. His sword clattered down beside him, his hands laying open in his lap, useless for anything other than catching the tears that dripped from his cheeks. When he finally thought to _breath_ , the air stuck in his throat and hurt his lungs. He wheezed a few times, leaning forward to put his head to his knees as his mind whirled. His chest ached with pain, his body going numb as he tried to recover enough to hide again. He had to get outside. He had to find his uncle Ned, or anyone left alive that could help him escape. He had only managed to stand again by the time he heard the metallic steps of the knights. Desperately he looked for anywhere to run, but there was nowhere to go that would not result in capture. Jon breathed as deeply as he could and looked at his father’s body one last time. Leaning down, he grasped his sword tight, settling down into the fighting stance that Theon and Robb had demonstrated to him countless times. He knew he would not be able to kill even one of these awful warriors, but hopefully, he could do as much damage as possible before they killed him.

But when Jon saw who they entered the chamber with, who they were guarding, his sword fell again. Cersei’s eyes moved passively over the dead body of the King before they fell on Jon.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you, Jon.” She had betrayed them. Jon had trusted her, had wanted to love this women, to let her become a caring figure in his life, to accept her as his father’s newfound love. And this is what they had gotten. Jon felt like puking. He stared into her eyes, the blue once giving him comfort now seemed lifeless and cold. She had never intended good, this had been her plan from the start. Every word she had spoken was a lie. Jon’s body burned in anger. For his dead mother, for his murdered father, for his people down in that courtyard getting slaughtered because of this woman before him. He screamed as he ran at her, suddenly enough that it shocked her into taking a step back. Her movement gave him enough space to slip between her guards and sprint into the hallway. He didn’t hesitate to choose a direction, he just ran where his feet took him.

Bursting outside into the midst of the battle, Jon almost slipped in the blood under his feet. The very people Jon had grown up around, the people that were supposed to be his subjects one day, were being killed in front of him and there was nothing he could do. He was too young, too small, too scared to move from his spot.

“Jon!” His head whipped up, tearing his eyes away from the maiden girl laying near him who was unrecognizable in death, her face so badly beaten. Lord Stark rode towards him desperately, Robb behind him in the saddle, clutching to his father’s shirt in fear. Theon charged towards him on his own steed, his hand extended to grasp Jon’s and haul him onto the horse behind him. Jon held onto Theon so tightly he feared he was hurting the older boy as they followed his uncle to the gates of the castle. They were moments away, mere seconds, when a hand reached out and roughly took hold of the back of Jon’s nightshirt. He was ripped from the saddle, nearly pulling Theon off the horse as well. The horse kept going even as the Greyjoy struggled to turn it around, looking back at Jon in desperate fear. Jon had landed hard and was breathless against the stones. Someone grabbed him again and hurled him up over their shoulder, turning back towards the castle, walking calmly through the chaos around them. Jon looked out at Theon and his uncle and cousin. Robb was struggling to dismount Ned’s horse, being held back by the Lord.

“I won’t leave him, father! No!” He fought wildly, even as Ned steered his horse through the gates as they started to close. Theon winced like he was in pain before he too turned away from Jon, racing under the gate just before it slammed closed, trapping the rest of them inside the castle walls. Jon screamed, feeling his throat tearing, beating his fists against the back of his captor as he watched his family ride away from him into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

It took a long time for the screaming to stop, for the chaos to die down. Jon was held firmly in place by the guard who had ripped him away from Theon, this knight almost abnormally large compared to rest, his tight grip on Jon never relenting, bruising the pale skin of his arm violently. The few survivors were gathered in a circle, surrounded by the dark guards. The moon had already dropped below the castle walls, the stars disappearing with it, as the morning sun turned the inky night sky into a dark blue.

Cersei stepped outside to examine them, already wearing a heavy crown that Jon had never seen before, its sharp points and dark metal gleaming in the firelight that came from the torches her guards held. Her gaze swept quickly over him before she look out at the crowd of beaten men and women. The guard holding Jon stepped towards her, nearly ripping Jon’s arm out of its socket with the unexpected movement.

“What shall we do with the leftovers, your Grace?” His voice was so low it rumbled through Jon like an earthquake and he once again tried to pull away, no matter how badly it hurt him to try. The knight didn’t even seem to notice. Cersei’s face almost softened as she looked out at the wounded people, the bodies littering the yard all around them. But then her smirk formed again and her eyes darkened.

“To the sword.” All around the crowd, the knights drew their blades once more, moving in on the panicking mass. The monster holding Jon drew his blade only halfway before Cersei stopped him with a feather-light touch to his chest plate.

“Lock the Prince up, Mountain. One never knows when King’s blood might be useful.” She looked at Jon as if he were something she’d stepped in. The Mountain, as Cersei had called him, grunted an affirmation and hauled Jon away, never reacting to the boy’s pained cries as his arm was used as a leash to drag him out of the courtyard, away from the once-again screaming people of the his father’s court.


End file.
